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“So, there’s not a file on me back at Raintree headquarters?”
He expected her to laugh at the idea of Raintree headquarters and files on independents, but she didn’t. “Not much of one,” she admitted. “I didn’t have an easy time finding any detailed information on you.”
“Good.” Before she left he’d find out what—where and how—she had discovered about him, and make su
re no one else could follow in her footsteps. He couldn’t make it impossible for someone gifted to find him—those with special abilities found their way to Cloughban all the time—but if there was any kind of a paper or electronic trail it would have to be eliminated.
She straightened her spine. “So, how do we get to know each other?”
“Among the many jobs you’ve had, have you ever waited tables?”
“Many times. When my band was playing in Wilmington...”
Not that again. “I don’t need to know the details,” he snapped. “You start tonight, princess.” With that, he slid from his seat and stood. He’d spent too much time looking at her. She was starting to get under his skin, and that was the last thing he needed.
She stood, too, more than a little angry. “I’ve had about enough of that. You can call me Echo or Raintree or pain in the ass, but do not call me princess.”
“Why not? Isn’t that what you are, a Raintree princess?”
Echo lifted her chin in obvious defiance. She’d probably deck him if he told her she was cute when she was mad.
“Some might say so, but that’s not who I want to be. I just want... I just want...”
A normal life. A life without pain. Ordinary worries, ordinary dreams. He knew very well what she wanted. “It doesn’t matter what you want, love.”
“Besides, you make princess sound like an insult.”
“Maybe it is,” he admitted.
She took a step closer, angrier, tense. “And another thing—you can stop interrupting me.”
“If you would get to the point in a timely manner, love, I wouldn’t need to.”
She punched him in the chest. “And love is no better than princess. I am not your love. I am not your princess. If you can’t call me Echo or Raintree, don’t call me anything at all. I’ll be happy to answer to hey, you.”
“As you wish. Be back here ready to work in two hours. You’ll need a place to stay. Maeve Quinlan rents out rooms by the week. She should have a vacancy.” He gave her directions, which were quick and easy. The Quinlan house was within walking distance, as was everything in Cloughban.
“How long will I need that room?” Echo asked. “One week? Two?”
One week or even two might be manageable, but he was not optimistic about that timeline. What had Cassidy meant by a long time? To an eleven-year-old, a month might be a very long time.
“I haven’t any idea.” He still wanted to send Echo Raintree on her way, but why fight it?
Like it or not, his daughter was never wrong.
Chapter 4
The rain stopped as suddenly as it had started, leaving Cloughban looking freshly washed, sparkling and clean. Echo drove the short distance to the bed-and-breakfast. It would be an easy enough walk—she could see the two-story house from the pub—but she needed to park her rental car. Duncan had told her there was parking available behind the boardinghouse.
It would cost her a small fortune to keep the rental car indefinitely, but what choice did she have? It would be a day’s trip to return the car to the Dublin airport and then get back to town. She didn’t know anyone in Cloughban well enough to ask for that kind of favor.
She would’ve been better off to fly into the Shannon airport, but it wasn’t as if she’d taken her time and planned this trip well. The flight to Dublin had been the next with an available seat, and she’d taken it.
Besides, she didn’t want to be stuck without an easy and immediate mode of transport. If things didn’t go well she could leave at any time.
Always have an escape route...
Echo carried her bag up the narrow stairway, half listening to her new landlady, who led the way with a sway of her hips and a bright smile she occasionally cast over her shoulder. Maeve Quinlan was fiftyish, tall and pleasant looking with salt-and-pepper hair and a sturdy build. She wore a calf-length skirt in a girlish pink print, a matching blouse and a white cardigan. She could easily pass for a 1950s housewife.
